


Philia

by I_Shouldnt_Be_Here



Series: Love is known as... [2]
Category: Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan (2020)
Genre: Angst, Based in Allahabad, Based on the types of love found in ancient Greek literature, Comfort, Fighting, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt, M/M, Philia means friendship or shared goodwill, Teen Romance, Teenage Kartik and Aman, They play football, author had to reupload because Google Docs sliced up and rearranged their paragraphs smh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24474394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Shouldnt_Be_Here/pseuds/I_Shouldnt_Be_Here
Summary: A lazy afternoon in Allahabad with a gang of boys playing football. Sometimes physical hurt masks years of emotional pain. Kartik discovers that all teenage boys didn't get a kick out of bullying others.
Relationships: Kartik Singh/Aman Tripathi
Series: Love is known as... [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764058
Comments: 21
Kudos: 34





	Philia

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

It was a dreary monsoon afternoon in Allahabad, the gravelly roads and narrow gullies littered with puddles of water reflecting the electric cables, television cables, terraces with washing lines criss crossing overhead haphazardly. The puddles splashed, disturbed infrequently either by the bony ankles attached to teenage boys or the falling-apart football attached to their cheap thrills and joys.

A group of boys playing football in the gully was the only  _ movement _ in the landscape. Knees rose upward diagonally, elbows went flying and curses were flung outward like fish scales in machli bazaar.

“Bhains ki aankh, header maarne bola thha, sarr phodne nahi!” Words were aimed at an overambitious boy rubbing the top of his head in pain. 

_ (Son of a gun, I’m not responsible if you crack your skull!) _

“Kartik, idhar pass kar! Saale idhar dekh na!” Aman exclaimed, trying to catch Kartik’s attention. He had spotted a loophole, otherwise known as an inattentive goalkeeper.

_ (Kartik pass the ball here! Fucking look this way!) _

Kartik turned his head towards Aman, planning to pass the ball. In that split second, an elbow surreptitiously caught him in the side and he lost his balance.

He felt himself falling and his elbows flew to protect his head.

He heard a dull  _ thump-whoosh _ of body parts hitting and scraping against gravel and felt a burning pain in his knees and elbows.

At least it wasn’t a head injury.

He got up and took a glance at his blood red elbows.

“FOUL!” He screamed. 

He also noticed that the boys were gathering closer to him, worried about serious injuries. The boy who elbowed him had his jaw set in preparation of a cracking argument.

“Foul nahi thha!” This was the signal. The two teams argued and screamed. Aman silently took Kartik’s hand.

_ (It wasn’t a foul!) _

“Mai Kartik ko ghar lekar jaa raha hoon. Usko chot lagi hai. Aur football mera hai. Mai woh bhi lekar jaa raha hoon. Ladtey raho.” Aman punctuated this with a ‘keep going’ gesture. 

_ (I’m taking Kartik back to my house. He is hurt. And the football is mine. I’m taking that away too. Keep fighting.) _

The argument visibly deflated and lost steam. Kartik stood in awe after Aman’s said those words. 

“Arre baap re, ekdum se Amitabh Bachchan kaise bann gaye?” Kartik bent down and whispered into Aman’s ears. Aman squeezed his forearm harder.

_ (Oh boy, how did you become Amitabh Bachchan all of a sudden?) _

“Ouch Aman dard ho raha hai!”

_ (Ouch Aman it hurts!) _

…

There was nobody in the courtyard. Kartik stood there and wondered if the Tripathi family was in the habit of partaking in afternoon siestas. 

When the adrenaline of the fight and Aman dragging him into the house broke up, he felt the pain anew. He felt a burning, stinging sensation on his knee and both of his elbows. His elbow was weeping blood. Kartik hurriedly wiped it on his tee shirt.

Aman set out to find the first aid kid, it being among the few things he could find without his mother. It was a beautiful red biscuit tin, the kind whose contents (when full) were fought upon before getting broken into pieces among three cousins.

Sunaina kept it well stocked. The Tripathi family was prone to scrapes, physical or otherwise.

“Chal Kartik mere room me.”

_ (Let’s go to my room, Kartik.) _

Aman led him through a rickety staircase to the terrace. There was a small room there, an ugly cuboidal swelling on the otherwise flat rectangle terrace. Aman led him inside, and sat him down on the single bed.

“Ab dikha kidhar ghaav hai.” Kartik tucked his hand under his elbow to show the wound to Aman. 

_ (Now show me where the wound is.) _

Aman rummaged around in the biscuit tin to find cotton and gauze. His fingers wandered over the antiseptic bottles.

Aman put some Savlon on a cotton and rubbed it over Kartik’s elbow. Kartik winced and sighed in pain. He knew that Kartik was being dramatic.

He knew that Dettol had a bad sting, red tincture of iodine stung even worse but not Savlon.

But he did not know _ why _ this information suddenly popped up in his head while he was cleaning Kartik’s wounds. 

When Kartik stretched his arm out, he noticed bruises on his pale-peach forearm. They were red and shaped like fingers, as if somebody had grabbed his arm hard enough to leave bruises. They were conspicuous enough to be visible on Kartik’s wheatish forearm, but they wouldn’t have shown up on Aman’s dark brown skin.

He figured that someone would have had to grab his arm  _ really _ hard for bruises to show up on Kartik’s sinewy forearm. The only suspect Aman could think of was his father. Being a blacksmith, he could have this sort of strength. He wanted to ask him about it, but he knew that Kartik would deflect his question with a joke.

Kartik observed Aman cleaning his wounds. Suddenly, his face contorted in puzzlement. He knew that something was bothering Aman, but he did not dare to ask. A heavy silence ensued between them, with Aman working silently and Kartik regarding him curiously. Kartik regarded the way light fell upon Aman’s face, the soft shadows of afternoon billowing under his cheekbones and pooling under his chin.

_ Aman bahut accha dihkta hai. _

_ (Aman looks very good.) _

This thought invaded his head suddenly, like an unwelcome guest. It was harmless on its own, yet Kartik was terrified that he would run away with it and confirm his father’s worst fears. He tucked that thought away, into a deep recess of his mind but he knew that thought would come to terrorise him when he slept. On his stomach, neck bent to the side because of the bruises on his back.

“Kartik idhar hi rukna, mai first aid kit wapas rakh kar aata hoon.”

_ (Kartik you wait here, I’ll be back in a while.) _

Aman was gone, and Kartik was alone in his room. There were posters of Sachin Tendulkar on the walls and a few novels on the shelves. His bed was strewn with clothes. Kartik regarded a tee shirt with curiosity. It was a red coloured v-neck. His mind automatically went to the inverted triangle of skin between Aman’s collarbones which was darker than the rest of his chest. 

Kartik plummeted into thoughts about Aman’s dark brown skin and darker brown forearms and triangle-between-the-collarbones, with an intensity that couldn’t be called ‘casual observation.’

During this interval, another observer was observing Kartik. She lingered on the window right behind him. She watched him through brown plastic sunglasses which made the late afternoon sunlight appear murky. She watched the back of his blue tee shirt and the black hair on his head. She wanted to  _ talk _ to him. She wanted to  _ listen _ to him. But, like all other desires of hers, it had to be pushed down and suffocated. She walked to a corner of the terrace which could not be seen from the room’s windows.

“Arre Kartik, pata hai, Mummy aur Chachi toh iss room ko apne achaaron ka storeroom banaane wali thi, woh toh maine rok liya…” Aman burst into the room, bearing his overexcited words. Kartik was not paying attention to them.

_ (You know, Ma and Chachi were about to make this room a pickle storeroom, I stopped them in the nick of time…) _

Kartik winced when Aman held his shoulder from the back. The bruises and wounds had healed a week ago, but that had become a habit. Aman widened his eyes yet again. The way Kartik had fallen, there was no way he could get hurt on his back.

“Peeth par bhi chot lagi hai kya?” 

_ (Did you get hurt on your back too?) _

“Nahi…” Kartik said in a very small voice.

_ (No…) _

“Peeth dikha, agar chot lagi ho toh theek kar dunga…” Aman extended his arm towards Kartik’s collar. That set him off.

_ (Show me your back, if you’re hurt then I’ll fix you up.) _

“Bola na  **nahi** !” He spat.

_ (I told you to  _ **_stop_ ** _!) _

“Theek hai, itna bhadakne ki zarurat nahi…” Aman approached him cautiously. Kartik’s head bent downward to avoid meeting Aman’s eyes.

_ (It’s okay, no need for you to get so ticked off…) _

“Tere baap ka koi role hai kya? Tu mujhe bataa sakta hai…” Aman cut to the point immediately. This made Kartik even more defensive.

_ (Does your father have a shand in this? You can tell me…) _

“Bola na ki tum nahi samjhoge!” 

_ (I told you that you wouldn’t understand!) _

“Bataa toh sahi…” Aman inched closer to Kartik.

_ (At least try speaking to me…) _

“Nahi! Baat ka batangarh mat banaa saale!” Kartik threw the word at Aman. It caught him in the chest and he winced, almost in physical pain. All Kartik wanted to do was cry, but he knew that the only way to escape from the iceberg sized lump in his throat was to scream and get angry. He shoved Aman angrily. Aman shoved him back.

_ (I told you no, didn’t I? Now fucking stop blowing this out of proportion.) _

They fought for a long while, Aman with sharp replies and Kartik with defensive insults. They had jumped from one argument to another. Right from the gravel-lined gully to Aman’s room. Kartik was  _ this  _ close to throwing a punch at Aman but he clasped his hands together tightly.

_ Mai apne baap jaisa nahi hoon’  _ drummed repeatedly in his head.

_ (I am not like my father) _

Rajni was listening to their argument intently from her usual invisible perch. Suddenly she noticed a drop in loudness and vitriol.

Meanwhile inside the room, Aman dropped a bomb.

“Yeh boys washroom waali baat hai kya?” Kartik’s eyes widened and he crumbled. 

_ (Is it that thing which happened in the boys washroom?) _

Kartik cradled his head and sank to the ground. The gauze tied around his elbows and knees became a thin rubber band and pinched him. HIs eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Kartik  _ himself _ was in denial that  _ that  _ actually happened. How did Aman come to know about it? He brought his arms closer to protect his head and chest, anticipating a blow or freshly spilled acid from the tongue.

How did Aman come to know that he had held-and-almost-kissed Vedant in the washroom?

Aman waited a whole minute, watching the multitude of emotions passing over Kartik’s face. Shock, terror, fear, a dash of anger and most importantly,  _ betrayal.  _ He waited before spilling his own words for Kartik. He took a deep breath.

“Tumhe kya lagta hai, har dusre din, assembly bunk maarke washroom me sisak-sisakkar roh’oge aur mujhe pata nahi chalega?” Aman said gently.

_ (What do you think, you’d bunk the assembly every few mornings to cry in the washroom and I wouldn’t notice?) _

Kartik felt a confusing cocktail of shame and relief after listening to Aman’s words. He felt immensely relieved that his secret hadn’t gotten out, but he couldn’t make sense of exactly why Aman was showing so much concern for him. Anyone else in Aman’s place wasn’t supposed to do what he was doing right now. 

A stranglehold of mortification squeezed two tears out of his eyes and made them carve arcs down Kartik’s shame-reddened cheeks. His cheeks were so warm that he felt like the tears would evaporate.

Aman’s anger leached out of his body, drop by drop, after looking at Kartik’s conflicted eyes. Those eyes were of someone with secrets too heavy for their shoulders. Aman squatted down on the floor next to Kartik and held his arms reassuringly. Aman knew he had an apology on his lips but couldn’t bring himself to speak it. 

Another thing that pricked Aman’s conscience was how Kartik’s conflicted glance seemed  _ really _ similar to his own when he looked in the mirror. Especially after his mother shot him one of those ‘mera beta aisi ladki sei shaadi karega’ lines.

_ (My son will marry a girl like this) _

“Theek hai, baad me kabhi batana. Aur maine tujhe maaf kiya. Mera bistar bigaadne ke liye. Maggi khayega?” Aman gave him a half-smile. Kartik gave a half smile in return, a little wider because of maggi. He sniffed and rubbed his eyes.

_ (Okay, tell me later if you want to. And I forgive you for messing up my bed. You want to eat instant noodles?) _

It was already evening when Kartik departed from the house after having a bowlful of maggi, with Aman and Rajni.

…

A week had passed since this incident. Kartik’s wounds had developed itchy brown scabs. He was seated on his bed, studying English when a newspaper clipping fell from his English notebook. Kartik immediately got curious and picked it up.

_ Are you stressed? Depressed? Suicidal? Nobody to talk to? We specialise in Teenage and Adult Counselling _

_ Call the Jeevan Helpline- 1800-000-0  _

_ We care for you. _

Kartik flipped it over and read the writing on the back. He recognised Aman’s round, loopy handwriting.

_ Kuch din pehle hi ye newspaper me aaya thha. Socha tumhare kaam ayega. Mann kiye toh call karna. Ghar pe comfortable nahi ho toh mujhe batana mai STD phone booth wale bhaiya sei baat kar lunga.  _

_ Chinta mat karo, sab theek ho jayega. Mai tumhara khayal karta hoon. _

_ (So, this came in the newspaper a few days ago. I thought this would be helpful for you. Call them if you want to. If you’re not comfortable doing so in the house then tell me, I’ll talk to the STD phone booth operator for you. _

_ Don’t worry, everything will be okay. I care for you.) _

_... _

**Author's Note:**

> Quite a ride, isn't it?  
> I'm sorry if I described football matches and the post-football slandering matches incorrectly. Author remembers playing football only once in their life (wearing open toed rubber sandals, dumb) and ripping a toenail apart in the process. So yes, a lot of liberties were taken here.  
> Friendship between teenage boys is kinda hard to write... Especially if you exclude unhealthy masculinity.
> 
> And suicide helplines don't work in India a lot of the time. People, ask for help if you need it. Go to a therapist or a psychiatrist when needed. I wrote it this way because this piece is set in late 90s India, so there were limited mental healthcare options. And the newspaper clipping idea is taken from the movie, when Sunaina shows the clipping about Section 377 to Shankar and goes "Supreme Court jin patakhon par behes kar rahi hai, apne aangan mei phoot rahe hain."
> 
> 'Philia' means friendship between equals or shared goodwill. It can be taken in a romantic sense as well, but since I gave everyone cavities in Agape, I didn't focus on the romance aspect too much in this one hehe.  
> Friendships for the win!
> 
> Tell me how you felt like... Kudos and comments make my day!  
> Have a good morning/evening/day/night!  
> -Advaita


End file.
